Fools in Love
by Zeplerfer
Summary: America's love confession doesn't go as planned, forcing him to spend the day proving to England how much he cares.


On a beautiful morning in early spring, America stood outside England's door with a bouquet of roses. He nervously adjusted his bomber jacket and took a deep breath. As ready as he would ever be, he lifted his hand and knocked loudly.

This was it. The day he had been waiting for.

Fidgeting anxiously, America shifted his weight back and forth as he waited for England to answer. After what felt like hours, the door finally opened, revealing an annoyed Englishman still in his fuzzy green slippers. England's eyes widened in surprise as America shoved the bouquet of roses beneath his nose.

"There's something I gotta tell you…" America began, cutting England off before he could make a sarcastic remark. "I dunno why I've kept it hidden for so long, but I don't want to play around anymore." He hesitated, suddenly unsure if this was such a good idea.

"Yes?" England asked with a hopeful, breathy voice. He leaned forward and gazed into America's eyes so intensely the younger nation was afraid he might drown in an emerald sea.

Oh, god. England's look of breathless anticipation was enough to encourage America onward. This was definitely the best idea he had ever had. Or maybe the worst. Either way, he'd have his answer soon enough. America licked his lips and smiled nervously at England. "The truth is… I've been in love with you for decades. And I wanna know if you feel the same way."

Silence hung over them like a heavy fog. Moving slowly, as if he was caught in a dream, England reached out and took the bouquet from America's grasp. He buried his nose into the flowers and breathed in the beautiful aroma. As he glanced up, the Englishman slowly smiled, face half-hidden by the roses. "Somehow, I find that hard to believe."

America blinked in surprise. "You do?"

"Well, yes." England handed the bouquet back to America and placed his hands on his hips. "You've been calling me an old man for decades and I'm supposed to believe you're in love with me just because you have a dozen roses?"

"But… I thought you liked roses?"

"I love roses," England agreed. "However, I expect someone who's been in love with me for _decades_ to do more than bring me flowers." He turned and walked back into his house. America followed on his heels and closed the door behind them.

"Uh, of course, I've got other stuff planned!" America replied in a rush, panicking as his plan lay in tatters. He'd prepared for a yes, and he'd prepared for a no, but he hadn't considered that England would refuse to answer. Trying to think on his feet, America glanced around the foyer and racked his brain for ideas. He spotted the umbrella stand, a newspaper, a half-empty tea cup, and a painting of an English hillside in spring. He grinned in delight. "A picnic in the park!"

England looked over at the grandfather clock ticking merrily next to the stairs. "Well, I suppose it's nearly lunch," he replied casually, like America invited him out on romantic picnics all the time. "Which park?"

In that moment, America blanked on the name of every single park in London. He blinked rapidly. "Your favorite?" he suggested hopefully.

"You obviously have no idea what my favorite park is," England replied, not impressed.

"Of course I do!" America protested. "It's… the Queen's... Gardens," he guessed, throwing out a name at random. "The one with all the roses," he added at England's quizzical look. Every park in London had roses. It was like a royal decree or something.

England cocked his head to the side. "You mean Queen Mary's Gardens?"

"Yep." America nodded eagerly.

"Well, that is one of my favorites," England admitted, a hint of a smile on his lips, "though April's a little early for roses."

"Aw, c'mon England, I think you're beautiful all the time," America replied smoothly, putting on his best Hollywood charm with a wink and a debonair smile.

For a second, it seemed to work as England dropped his gaze in a fluster. But he eyed the bouquet of roses again and a suspicious look returned to his face when he noticed America's empty left hand. "So where's your picnic basket?"

There was an easy answer if America was brave enough to take it. "Well, I thought it would be romantic to let _you_ make sandwiches. I…" He gulped. "I want to eat your food."

England looked up in surprise and America thought he might have gone too far. But England just chuckled to himself and shook his head. "Right. I'll pack a picnic lunch and I'm sure you'll _love_ it," he replied with sugary sweetness before heading to the kitchen.

"Oh god," America whispered in fear.

"What was that?" England asked over his shoulder.

"I said, oh good!" America called loudly. He followed England through the manor's narrow hallway and into the newly renovated kitchen at the rear of the house. While England gathered the sandwich ingredients, America found a pitcher for the roses. He filled it with water and set the flowers on the small table in the breakfast nook. With the bouquet finally off his hands, he turned around and watched in trepidation as England made lunch. There were only so many ways one could mess up a sandwich, and England somehow managed all of them. He applied so much mayo that the bread turned soggy, then added too much cheese and not enough meat. And then, for some inexplicable reason, he salted the whole thing and added several dollops of hot sauce.

America watched the whole process with a look of disgust, but he managed to grin weakly when England turned his way. The shorter nation stuffed the sandwiches into ziplock bags and proudly handed them to America.

"Now we just need a picnic blanket," England declared. He hummed to himself and dug around in the pantry before finding an old tartan blanket. He placed it at the bottom of a tote bag while America added the sandwiches on top. England tossed in a couple bottles of water and something else, probably napkins. With their supplies ready, England changed out of his fuzzy green slippers and led the way to the nearby Queen Mary's Gardens in Regent's Park.

The sky was overcast, as usual, and the temperature a little brisk. But the air smelled fresh and clean, and everywhere there were signs of spring. Bright tulips decorated the garden beds along the pavement. Trees with tender, green buds lined both sides of the street.

As they walked side-by-side, America glanced at England out of the corner of his eye. He tried to gauge England's mood, but found England's expression inscrutable, as always. Still, England _had_ agreed to go on a romantic picnic, and that had to be a good sign, right?

Sooner than America expected, they were walking through elegant iron gates and strolling beneath cherry trees in full bloom. The cherry blossoms fluttered in the breeze, a few falling onto the ground and creating a thin layer of pink blossoms beneath their feet. It was beautiful and as romantic as he had hoped. America glanced over at England again and his heart fluttered to see the soft smile that lit up England's face.

"How about over there?" America suggested, pointing to a grassy area away from the other couples. When England nodded, they walked over together at a leisurely stroll. America spread out the blanket and sat down. He stretched out his legs, then looked up at England and patted the spot next to him.

The other nation regarded him carefully, before finally sitting down on the blanket next to America. It wasn't a big blanket, and they were forced to sit close together.

"Pretty romantic, right?" America asked as he gestured toward the trees.

"It's nice," England agreed. "Now are you actually going to explain what led you to show up on my doorstep with a dozen roses?" he asked with a challenging glint in his eyes.

America smiled innocently. "Because I didn't want to go another day without telling you how I felt. And I'd really like to know how _you_ feel." He leaned into England's personal space and stared deeply into England's eyes, hoping to catch a flicker of a hint. He was close enough to feel England's soft breath and he could almost imagine the other nation's pounding heartbeat. Or maybe he was just hearing his own, throbbing in his ears. Leaning even closer, he imagined what it would feel like to kiss those soft, sweet lips. They parted ever so slightly and America wondered what words might slip out. Love? Longing? Lust?

"I feel… a mite peckish," England murmured.

America sighed and leaned back onto his side of the blanket. Still, he was never one to argue about food. He grabbed the sandwiches from the bag he had casually tossed onto the grass. He offered one to England, who just smirked at him.

"Oh, they're both for you. I packed a salad."

"What?" America gasped, but sure enough, there was a small plastic container hidden at the bottom of the tote bag. He had no idea how England had managed to sneak it into the bag. It was probably the reason he was the home of Bond, James Bond.

While England happily ate his salad, America stared down the two least appetizing sandwiches he had ever seen. He crammed the first sandwich down his gullet as quickly as possible. "Mmm, yum, yum," he said between hurried bites. It was salty, soggy, spicy, and completely disgusting. His mouth was on fire and he wanted to puke.

England smiled sweetly. "Do you like it?"

America gasped and grabbed a water bottle, chugging as quickly as he could. "It's um, I've never… I'm speechless," he said after quenching the fires in his mouth.

"Well, good thing I made two."

"Yay." America stared at the second sandwich with trepidation. "Maybe I should feed the ducks with it?" he suggested. That was probably cruel to the ducks, but he didn't think he could stomach the second one without vomiting all over England. That would definitely ruin their quasi-date and extinguish any chance that England would reciprocate his affection.

"You don't like it," England replied, gazing forlornly at the poor sandwich.

"No, I do!" America protested. "Well, I like you, and I want you to be happy, so I guess I could…" he nibbled part of the crust and gave England a weak smile. "Yum."

For a second, England looked genuinely touched, but the moment passed before America could be certain and England was once again watching him suspiciously. America sighed. If eating England's nasty cooking wasn't enough to convince the other nation that he really cared, he didn't know what he could do.

"It's fine, I know you're just…" England trailed off as a few drops landed on his head. While they had been busy talking about food, most of the other couples had noticed the darkening sky, leaving them alone in the park as it began to drizzle. "Never mind. We should head back," England said, climbing to his feet and grabbing the tote bag before America could reply.

America "accidentally" dropped the sandwich onto the ground with relief and hurriedly folded up the picnic blanket. By the time he turned around, England had already pulled out a black umbrella and was halfway to the gate. "Wait up!" America called. He sprinted toward England as the rain grew steadily heavier.

By the time he caught up with England, he could see the other nation shiver in the cool, damp air. Inspired by a thousand romantic films, America shrugged off his bomber jacket and offered it to England. The other nation's eyes widened in surprise. "Are you kidding?" he demanded as his cheeks flushed pink. "I'm the one with the umbrella!"

"We could share," America suggested. He pushed the jacket toward England again and this time the other nation accepted. England handed the umbrella to America to hold as he slipped on the bomber jacket. Even though America hunched his shoulders, it was hard to keep the umbrella at a good height for both of them. They hurried together back toward England's house, both getting half-wet as they struggled to stay as close as possible beneath the small umbrella. They dashed the final block and both sighed in relief when they reached England's front door.

"That didn't go as well as I planned," America admitted as he once again followed England into his nice, warm house. Nothing was going the way he had planned.

England shrugged. "You know what they say. April showers bring May flowers."

"Yeah, I guess." America pulled off his damp t-shirt and hung it up on a coat hook to dry. He left his damp shoes by the radiator. When he turned around, he found England staring at his abs with rapt attention. America grinned and took a few steps closer. "Maybe we should warm up beneath a blanket," he suggested.

"Mmm," England agreed, casting sidelong glances at America as they walked together into the living room. He grabbed a soft fleece blanket from its spot hanging on the back of a sofa and curled up underneath it. "You can use that one," he said, gesturing toward a throw that was folded on the ottoman by the fireplace.

"Nah. It's warmer if we share," America replied. He plopped down right next to England and stole half the blanket as England turned toward him and stared at him in surprise. "See, look! You're warm already," he teased, resting both hands on England's bright red cheeks.

"Your hands are freezing!" England replied, swatting them away. But he didn't move from his spot next to America, and after a few moments he curled up his legs underneath him and buried deeper under the soft fleece blanket.

They sat together contentedly and neither spoke lest they ruin the moment. Outside the rain poured, beating on the roof with a steady, soothing rhythm. It was a perfect way to spend a rainy afternoon. With England pressed up against him, wearing America's own bomber jacket, everything was right with the world.

America relaxed and let his thoughts drift as he grew cozy and warm beneath the shared blanket. England still hadn't said the magic words, but it was obvious he cared. And that was good enough for America. He blinked lazily and wondered if it was worth the effort of starting a fire and getting two cups of hot chocolate. But that meant moving, and at the moment, taking a nap with England on the couch sounded very appealing. Almost as appealing as the thought of staying at England's house instead of going back to his hotel for the night.

"England?" America whispered, wondering if England was still awake. It was hard to tell from his soft, gentle breathing.

"Yes?" England whispered back. He turned his head to the side and gazed at America with drowsy, half-lidded eyes.

"Wanna make hot chocolate and then make out on the couch?" America asked.

England's eyes widened in surprise and then narrowed in anger with surprising speed. Tossing the blanket to the floor, he scrambled off the couch and stared down at America with a furious scowl. "No! This has gone too far. The picnic was one thing, but I am not letting you kiss me as an April Fool's Day joke!"

America gaped in shock. "What?"

"Oh, don't play dumb with me," England growled. "I know why you're here. This is just a hilarious joke to you."

"Hey, that's not true!" America protested.

England shook his head. "God, I'm so pathetic. You showed up with an obviously fake confession and I just played along with it."

"Just played along?" America wondered, dazed by the emotional whiplash.

"Yes, it was all a joke. Just like yours. Now take your jacket and get out of my house!"

America barely caught his bomber jacket as England flung it at his bare chest. His explanation died on his lips when he saw the pure fury in England's eyes. Not wanting to make it any worse, he put on the jacket and slunk back to the foyer. Feeling numb inside, America slipped on his damp shoes and stepped out into the pouring rain.

Lacking the will to move any further, he sat down on the front step and stared forlornly into the puddles in the path leading to England's house. His chest ached as he tried not to cry. England hated him. England would never forgive him. And it was all his own damn fault. America had thrown away his one chance at happiness because he was too scared to admit how he felt without a way to turn it all into a joke. What sort of a hero used April Fool's Day as a way to confess his love just because he was scared of the possibility of rejection?

The water soaked America to the bone, leaving him cold and numb. But at least it hid the salty tears streaking down his cheeks. He shivered and sniffled as the rain soaked his jacket. Rain drops and tears turned his glasses into a useless blur.

After a few minutes of pure misery, the rain stopped suddenly right above him. America glanced up and saw a black blur over his head.

"I'm calling you a cab," England said gruffly as he held the umbrella over both of them. "I don't care what happens to you, but the neighbors will gossip if I let you sit there all day." He tugged America to his feet and pulled him back into the warm, dry house.

America stared at him in confusion from behind rain-speckled glasses. For some reason, England's words and his actions never added up. But he was obviously upset, and it was all America's fault. He'd never realized England hated April Fool's Day so much.

"I wasn't trying to prank you, England," America apologized, voice hoarse with emotion as he stared at the cold, unforgiving floor. "I just thought… y'know, if I confessed today and you laughed at me, I could pretend it was a joke and we could go back to normal. But if you didn't, then we could be like… a couple."

"My god. You weren't joking," England murmured in shock.

The cab honked outside and America turned to leave. He stopped as England grabbed the sleeve of his jacket and pulled him back into the house. "What about the cab?" America asked, thoroughly confused. "I thought you wanted me to leave."

"To hell with the cab!" England cupped America's jaw and kissed with such tender affection that he felt like his heart might burst. After a moment of shock, America eagerly deepened the kiss. England liked him! No one could fake a kiss like that. Heart brimming with happiness, America wrapped his arms around England's waist and pulled him closer as the cab honked impatiently. Despite their sopping clothes, they pressed together in a perfect, passionate embrace.

When the kiss finally ended, England pulled back and gave America an enigmatic smile. "There's been something I've been wanting to say all day."

America gulped. "Really?"

"Yes." England smirked gleefully and dragged out the tension as long as possible. He leaned into the embrace and whispered into America's ear, "I love you too, you bloody fool."


End file.
